Coniunx
by aadarshinah
Summary: It's the wedding of the millennium, which brings with it its own problems. #33 in the Ancient!John 'verse. McShep. Lorne/Zelenka. Sam/Jack
1. Pars Una

**Coniunx**

An Ancient!John Drabble

* * *

><p><strong>16 May, 2007  XXXI Iun. a.f.c. I – Atlantis, Lantea, Pegasus**

"You're overreacting," he promises, giving Radek a quick, distracted smile as he emerges from the bedroom. "Also, have you seen my socks?"

"Borrow mine. And, no, I am not overreacting. I am reacting perfectly reasonably, _děkuju mnohokrát_."

"No bachelor party planned by Carson Beckett is going to be that wild. He'll probably make everyone go one-for-one with water for each beer you drink and hand you a couple aspirin at the end of the night. And there aren't any in the drawer."

"Check under the couch."

"Why would there be socks under the couch?"

Radek shrugs from his place at the small table he's crammed into the room next to the even smaller kitchenette. The suite can only optimistically be called such – it's more of an on-call room really, part of the same complex that makes up the hangars where _Aurora_ and _Thetis _live when they're not on missions. Evan calls it cramped. Radek calls it European. They agree to disagree.

Sighing, he grabs a flashlight from the pile of gear atop the coffee table and gets down to eye level with the gap between the sofa and the floor. "I see three pens, an empty magazine, and what must be all of the change that was in your pockets when we left Earth, but no socks."

"Maybe there are some in the laundry bag."

"The one from last week? No," Evan says quickly, ducking back into the bedroom, "don't answer that. I love you, Radek, but your organizational skills are crap."

"My organizational skills are _prioritized_," he hears Radek correct from the other room. "They keep Atlantis running, our bosses functional, and the floor clear enough that we can find both bed and coffee maker. Everything else is secondary."

"You may have a point there."

"Do not sound so surprised."

"I am: I just found the last two socks we own and they match and everything. It's a minor miracle."

He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls them on. He's already in the rest of his Guardsman's uniform, having taken extra care to make sure that the lacings on his brigandine are straight, that his dove grey vambraces are unstained. All that remains are the knee length boots, which somehow stopped seeming ridiculous months ago, and now feel almost like armour against the life he had before.

It's best to pretend that life doesn't exist anymore, that he never had a life on Earth, that he really is Icarus' son. Then he doesn't have to think about the fact that the Air Force dropped his name from the rolls, or told his parents he's 'in collusion with the enemy' and emailed him the audio recording of the resulting conversation, or numbered the list of Evan's supposed crimes so high that he's likely to be the first person the US military executes in forty-six years if he ever sets foot on Earth.

Atlantis is his home now. There's little for him left on the world of his birth, but he would have preferred not to burn those bridges. But he supposes he did that the moment he beamed the twenty-three Émigrés aboard Rory and high-tailed it back to the city – an action for which Icarus has given him a single silver star to sit on his shoulder, as blindingly bright as the _praetor_'s insignia at his throat and the embroidery on his shirtsleeves.

"But seriously though," Evan continues, lacing his boots, "McKay is your friend and it's his bachelor party. Go, bring proper booze, have a good time. I promise you it'll be nowhere near as bad as you're imagining and, if it is, you can always sneak into the Colonel's. I can guarantee neither of us would mind."

Voice growing closer until he's leaning the doorway of the bedroom, "It's not so much the _bachelor party_ as it is the _guest list_," Radek tells him, coffee cup in hand, fond smile belaying his worried tone. "You can't tell me you think inviting half of Earth's première gate team to the wedding isn't a horribly bad idea?"

"Of course I think it's a bad idea. We're five minutes away from a Lantean-Tau'ri war on a good day as it is. We don't need anything – or anyone – else fanning the flames. But he thinks that if he can just get through to the people at the top – General O'Neill and Colonel Carter, even Doctor Jackson – that he'll be able to accomplish something."

Radek hums. "And what do _you_ think?"

"If it can convince them to pull Colonel Telford, then I'm all for it. He's half the problem. I mean, Marines are _Marines_, but usually they're more reasonable than they've been since the Expedition came back, especially the ones vetted by the SGC. But the man wants a war, or at least to be the one in charge of Atlantis, and there's nothing that we'll ever be able to do to convince him otherwise."

"That would be ideal outcome, yes."

"It's certainly the one I'm hoping for."

"But not the one you're expecting."

"No," he sighs. "Not really." Because there's just as much chance that the Terrans will arrive in the city, take one look at Sheppard, and declare him the next Big Bad they have to fight.

Radek sets his coffee on the dresser and sits beside him on the edge of the bed. Technically, it is Radek's bed. Evan has one of his own aboard _Aurora_ that he usually stays in, even when she's in port. They try not to take this thing between them seriously, neither of them knowing which mission might be their last. But it's hard – so hard, especially like this, when Radek's sitting next to him, his hair still mussed from sleep, and things are so comfortable and easy that it _hurts_ to think that he can't have this forever, because they've promised themselves they'll make no promises.

He loves Radek, he really does, but there are times when he honestly thinks they'd be happier if they'd never gotten together rather than rather having to keep forcing distance between themselves.

"I do not think it will come to war."

"Feeling optimistic today, are we?"

"_Ne_," Radek says, shaking his head before bumping his shoulder against Evan's. He's hyperaware of the touch, as if they'd not done much more in much further states of undress. Radek makes him feel like a teenager all over again, like everything is new and wondrous and exciting, and it makes him want to end it all because Evan cannot stand the fact that he cannot say _I love you_ without turning it into a parody of itself, couched in jokes and exasperation; that his toothbrush in Radek's bathroom borders on too much commitment even after almost a year of being together. He wants, well, not what Sheppard and McKay have – not yet – but he'd like to start moving in that direction rather than carefully measuring out steps backwards for each forward movement they make.

"No one in charge wants a war. If they thought John was actually dangerous, it that would be another story, but he's not. So they will be content to leave him to sort out the problems of the Pegasus galaxy – the Wraith and Replicators and so on. But until the regime changes, or until John does something to make them seriously consider him a threat, we are good. We are safe."

"I wish I could believe you," Evan says. The touch remains. He leans into it now, wanting it to be more than it is, but even if it could be, there's no time. The Terran delegation is coming in a few hours and then after that it's a whirlwind of activity through the wedding until the thirty-sixth, which will mark the one-year anniversary of Icarus' Ascension. And then, after that, if all goes according to schedule, everything will be in place for Sheppard's big plan.

"You should. I am very smart."

Evan snorts.

"The Colonel is many things, but carless about the people under his protection is not one of them. He will be going out of his way to show his guests that he is a kind and benevolent ruler, not worth starting a war over at all."

"He _is_ a kind and benevolent ruler," he says with a frown.

Radek gives him a half-smile before pushing himself off the bed. "Then we have nothing to worry about, do we?"

* * *

><p>They have a whole hell of a lot to worry about, actually, because Evan-<p>

-has watched Sheppard stand on a hillside of a lifeless world, touch his hands to the earth, and lift a half a million tonnes of iron ore to the surface with the power of his mind alone.

-has seen him take steel ingots hot and glowing from the mills on the other end of the South-West Pier, warping and twisting them with his mind until they have become the skeletons of the new battleships he building in the hangar – great ships, dozens of times over longer than _Daedalus_, six times larger than even _Aurora_; two of them at once, to be filled by the Argosy training on Genia.

-has looked on as he's healed the sick and cured the blind and done a thousand impossible, wonderful, magical things, and there is every chance that SG-1 will only glance at him and not see one man with extraordinary gifts doing everything in his power to help others and see instead another enemy for them to tear down.

* * *

><p>"What are <em>you<em> doing here?"

"The Terran delegation arrives in fifteen minutes," Evan tells Colonel Telford with forced cheer as he takes the Gate Room stairs two at a time. He pauses briefly to catch Jinto, racing up the steps the opposite direction, by the collar and say, "No running."

Jinto looks for a second like he's about to say something, most likely about how he's already late (his shift started five minutes ago), but instead he smiles charmingly at him before saying, "Yes, Lord 'Helianus," and continuing up the steps at a slightly slower pace. He sighs, because Sheppard indulges the city's few children terribly, and nothing he says will ever stick unless all the planets and stars align so that it's something that his adoptive father happens to agree with him upon – like arriving to one's shifts on time, if not running in the halls.

"Isn't it a little beneath you to be babysitting, _my lord_?" Telford sneers.

Around anyone else, the Colonel can usually hold his temper, but when left in Evan's company he cannot seem to help but reverting to the same jackbooted methods of some of his Marines. Radek calls it twisted envy, that Evan should be _praetor_ and _heres_ of such a magnificent city while Telford is nothing more than military commander of the part they let the Second Expedition lease – but, then again, Radek also thinks Jinto has a crush on him, so what does he know?

No, most likely it is plain old resentment that colours Telford's words and nothing more. Telford is a full-bird colonel, whereas Evan was only a major when the Hegira stripped him of his rank and his homeworld. Yet it is to Sheppard – or, in practice, Evan, – Telford must report at the end of each day. Very few people would be happy with that situation, regardless of the posting involved.

"Nah, otherwise I'd have sent Doctor Ahavah to deal with you," Adi Ahavah is a physicist who'd served in the Israeli Defence Forces before getting her degrees, and who is thus the closest thing he has to an executive officer among the Émigrés.

Telford's face colours comically.

Major Teldy steps in strategically at this point. "Gentlemen, if you'd start acting like the fine, upstanding officers I know you can be? Otherwise kindly whip out your measuring sticks somewhere else – preferably somewhere that's a nice, long distance away from my Gate Room."

"Gladly, Major," he agrees. He likes Teldy. She's terrifyingly competent in a way that Evan can't help but admire and takes absolutely no shit from anybody, including her commanding officer.

Luckily, the Gate activates before anyone has time to say much else.

Vala Mal Doran is the first one through, her already bright smile widening when she sees him. "Hello, Handsome," she says, not quite flinging herself at him, but stopping close enough that he knows a hug of some sort is required. Which he gives, gladly, "Not quite the welcoming party I was expecting, but I'll take it. You still taken?"

"Very much so."

"That remains one of the most tragic things I have ever heard. I would weep if it wouldn't ruin my makeup." She pulls back, examining him at arms length as she says, quite seriously, "They claim it's waterproof, but it never really is. Now," her hands fall from his shoulders, "where is Good Looking?"

"Vala, let the man go," Doctor Jackson asks tiredly, coming up from behind, his entrance unnoticed in the chaos that naturally surrounds Vala.

"Not everyone is so adverse to a little human contact as you, Daniel," she replies peevishly. "And, if you'd bothered to pay attention, you'd have noticed I wasn't even touching him anymore."

Sighing, "Fine, yes, where _is_ John anyway? Or Rodney, for that matter?"

"I was just asking that-"

"It's alright. I'm here," Icarus calls, coming through one of the side hallways. He's sans robe and brigandine for once, wearing only a blood red tunic with embroidery at the collar and grease down the front and a pair of dark pants that are stained from the knee down. "Sorry I'm late, there was a problem at the steel mill. There were some impurities in the last lot of ore we didn't pick up on and, well, we lost a whole batch of joists. Luckily we're ahead on production and so it shouldn't-"

Sheppard stops suddenly, the tired grin he'd been sporting all but falling off his face. He looks slowly between the still open Gate, Doctor Jackson, and Colonel Carter (who has only just rematerialized on this side) for a moment before asking the room with quiet deliberation, "Anyone care to explain to me why 'Lantis is telling me that she's picking up radiological signatures coming from Midway?"

Startled, Evan's eyes snap to the ceiling. But before he can so much as ask, the city tells him-

/We do no know what Iohannes is talking about. Our sensors are picking up nothing unusual coming from the _navale_ beyond what seems to be an excessive number of bio-sign readings./

/How excessive?/ he asks while Carter answers-

"It is a precaution, nothing more."

Icarus spreads his arms out wide, showing them to be open, empty, and not a little grease stained. "You'll notice I'm not pointing any weapons in your direction."

"No, but you wouldn't need to, would you?" she says, sounding perfectly reasonable in her concern, as Atlantis informs him-

/Enough for more SG teams than a _navale_ that size could reasonably need. We count in total thirty-seven people aboard./

/Which is sixteen more than Midway was deigned to hold,/ he sighs internally. /What are their files saying about it?/

The pause before she answers is interminable. /That we are dangerous. That we are to be feared./

"We have done nothing to threaten you. We have done nothing to harm you. We've given you every ZPM we could spare, given you knowledge and technology and access to this city when we could have easily refused you all of it after you abandoned us to our fate. And yet you point nuclear warheads through our _porta_ and call it _precaution_."

"The Asgard are gone," Carter informs them stiffly, as if she understands the logic of her words but is uncomfortable with their reality. "The Ori have been defeated. Adria is defeated. This leaves you as the most powerful being in the universe. Can you not understand why some people might not be scared?"

"Not when I've done nothing but _help_." Icarus' arms fall heavily to his sides. One twitches towards the still-active Gate, which shuts off shortly thereafter, and if Evan hadn't caught that brief movement he imagines he would have thought the Gate had disconnected naturally. "Nuclear weapons pointed in my direction tend to make me disinclined to continue that."

"Then help us to make them see reason."

"We're on your side, John," Jackson cuts in. "You have to believe that. But not everyone back on Earth is as convinced of your good intentions as we are."

"I shouldn't have to convince them of anything," Sheppard responds coolly, but with a level of petulance that undermines any attempt to take his anger seriously. "They should be able to see that I'm only trying to do what's in everybody's best interests and just _let_ me."

"Just give them time. They will."

"Well," Vala declares in the silence that follows this pronouncement, lurching forward to grab Sheppard's arm, "I for one think that's enough posturing for one day. What do you say you go show us what it is that's gotten you so deliciously dirty, and then we can talk about what we're going to do for your bachelor party."

* * *

><p>"We're calling them <em>Victoria<em> and _Vindicta_."

"_Victory_ and _Vengeance_," Jackson translates, staring up at the huge spaceships that dominate the hangar and dwarf _Aurora_. Despite this, however, Rory maintains pride of place in the centre of the now crowded hall, and he's caught Sheppard standing near her as he works, explaining process of building her new sisters to her with soft and easy words that make him feel like he's intruding upon something fragile and special. Sheppard is proud of his creations, but he loves Rory.

"It seemed appropriate," Icarus agrees with a nod. "They're not as big as the _Tethys_-class was – only about half the size, really – but they should more than do the job."

"_Half_? This one's got to be eighteen thousand meters long. At least."

"Twenty-one thousand and two, actually. She'll have eight batteries of five hundred fifty railguns spread across twelve decks when she's completed, along with three hundred drone tubes and six launch bays capable of holding two hundred sixty of your F-302s each. Rodney's is working on a design for our own fighter-interceptors, of course, since the jumpers were only really ever designed to be runabouts, but I doubt we'll have more than a few off the line by the time _Victoria_ and _Vindicta_ are ready to launch."

Carter whistles, moving beneath the half-plated skeleton of _Victoria_. She's a little further along than her twin, with a rounded sort of bow that reminds Evan somewhat of a dolphin's nose, slowly curving upward to encompass the higher decks, and ending quite suddenly in an utterly sheer stern that runs straight from Deck 1 to Deck 12, unbroken by anything save for six thin vertical slits for the engine exhausts.

_Victoria _is a strange mix of gentle curves and sharp angels, beautiful in that undeniably exotic way that most Ancient technology proves to be, although much of her design is of Terran origin. While she is naked and raw now, with little more than a third of her milky grey hull plating lain down and a great many of her pipes and cables lying exposed for all to see, that elegance remains.

She is nothing at all like Rory, but then again, few things are.

"What I want to know is _how_ you've managed all this in, what, five months? It took us over two years to build _Prometheus_ and four to build _Daedalus_ – and we had ten times the manpower you do."

"Six weeks, actually."

"_Six weeks_?" Carter sputters. "That's impossible, even for you."

Icarus shrugs. "Thank Jackson here, actually. Your little stunt with the Sangraal knocked the total number of Ascended beings in the known universe down to fifty-two, which is far too few for them to keep their threats of planetary annihilation."

"You mean the others are just _letting_ you build ships that will drastically change the course of human existence in this galaxy?"

"The times, they are a-changing, Doctor Jackson."

"And what, precisely, does that mean?" Vala asks, her eyes drifting away from the _linter_ long enough to cast a concerned look Sheppard's way.

Shooting her a wide grin, "It means that this galaxy is finally going to have the peace it deserves and they can't stop me, no matter how much they might want to."

Icarus turns back to look over his creation proudly, but Evan watches his guests. And their reactions are telling.

It will be war.


	2. Pars Dua

**Coniunx**

An Ancient!John Drabble

* * *

><p>Pars Dua<p>

* * *

><p><strong>17 May, 2007  XXXI Iun. a.f.c. I – Atlantis, Lantea, Pegasus**

"There's not going to be a war. Stop being paranoid; it's not a look that works on you. Leave the Cold War-era thinking to your better half and let me get back to work."

Radek makes an amused sound from across the room, where he's connecting the circuitry of what will be part of the master engineering systems display panels. "Does this mean I am no longer assigned to water treatment repair?"

"What? No. Where would you get an idea like that?" McKay asks, genuinely surprised as he edges out from under an environmental control console on the opposite end of the room. He looks tired – although, honestly, he's never quite _stopped_ looking tired since his brush with Ascension a month ago. It makes Evan worry.

(Granted, sometimes it feels like all he ever does anymore is worry – about Atlantis, about Icarus, about Rory and anyone who's ever set foot near any of the three. But with McKay it's genuine concern, particularly when he watches the lights on the new Device sitting at the top of his spine flicker from green to red.)

"You called me the better half just now. Definite improvement over before."

Baldly, "Of course it's an improvement. It's not like you could actually get any worse. But that doesn't mean you're off the hook with the water treatment systems. You earned that punishment and, if I have anything to say about it, which I do, it will be your duty until the day you die. Or," he gestures sharply in Radek's direction, "you discover cold fusion. You discover cold fusion, and I'll let you off the hook with the water treatment systems."

"I am curious. This irrational hatred, does it make you _mother-_ or_ father-in-law_ in this scenario? I only ask because-"

A pair of wire strippers, not particularly well aimed, goes flying across the room to land about three feet behind and to the right of Radek. He tucks his laguiole knife into his belt, plucks the wire strippers off the floor, and resumes his work with the proper instrument. "Is always a pleasure working with you, Rodney."

"This is why," Rodney declares, now waving a pair of needle-nosed pliers in his direction, "Carson is my best man, not you. Also, I reject your narrow-minded need to pidgin-hole John and I into _the man_ and _woman_ of our relationship. It's ridiculous and absurd and, being at least a two on the Kinsey Scale, you should know better. Or," the pliers turn dangerously in Evan's direction, "you should two work on that."

"Is there any chance we can steer away from this deeply uncomfortable conversation," Evan asks instead, "and back towards the rather more pressing issue of the fact that your soon-to-be-husband, _my_ adoptive father, and _your_," he waves an irate hand in Radek's direction, which surprises no one more than himself, "whatever-you-want-to-call-it is inadvertently trying to start a war with the one species left in the universe that is actually capable of doing us some harm?"

Ever the devil's advocate, Radek asks, "What about the Wraith? Or the Replicators?"

"We're already at war with them."

"Are we actually at war with the Replicators? I merely ask because I am curious, as they have not actually attacked us and we have done nothing more than spy on them from the edge of the Asuran system."

"If we're not, we soon will be."

"No we won't," McKay insists, climbing to his feet and dusting off his knees. He's not very successful, but luckily his clothes are a dusky shade of blue that hides the dirt well. A small blessing, in case he runs across any of the delegations in the city for the wedding later.

People who've never met McKay always have a hard time believing he would be the man their god has chosen to marry unless he looks half-divine himself. It has a tendency to cause problems, mostly of the sort where heads of state come to him suggesting that he push a _more appropriate_ candidate – such as their daughter, or sister, or (in one memorable case) themselves – Icarus' way.

"We're building spaceships to bomb their planet back to the Palaeozoic, Pops," Evan reminds blandly. "I think its safe to say there will be a war,"

"And as I keep telling you: there _won't_. Not with the Replicators and not with Earth either. War implies a prolonged conflict between two more or less equal forces. What we're doing here is a building a technological smokescreen for the most powerful being in the universe to use to exterminate any entire sentient species he feels like in one fell swoop. That's not war. That's the definition of genocide."

"And we're just _okay_ with this?" They may have had their disagreements with Earth, but they all have people they care about back there and there are plenty of people utterly innocent of any wrongdoing. To talk so casually, so openly about their annihilation… This is not what he'd signed up for.

(But, then again, it never is.)

"What? No, of course not. I'm just saying that, if Earth ever _does_ try to go to war with us, the only question is going to be not, _however will we survive, _it will be, _will we send the spaceships to do our dirty work or will John go himself_?"

"And," Radek inserts, "it will never come to that, because nobody in charge wants a war. As long as Earth has access to Atlantis, they will not risk their golden goose."

Evan sakes his head, biting his lower lip and searching for words that will make them understand. "You didn't see the look on Colonel Carter's face."

"She's probably just jealous of how quickly we've built _Victoria_."

"She's probably just thinking of the best way to get a nuke past _Victoria_'s shields," he counters.

"Oh, please," McKay snorts, "like you haven't thought about the best way to get a bomb past _Daedalus_'. You're military. She, more the shame, is military. It's something your lot does. Can we perhaps move on to more important questions, like why you're here, bothering _us_ of all people with your paranoia? Or maybe where Kununsagi and what's-his-name went? You know the one I'm talking about. The smarmy computer scientist with the ridiculous French accent and the," he gestures at his chin, "Van Dyke who still thinks Fortran is the last word in programming."

"You mean Doctor Durand?"

"Yes," McKay snaps triumphantly.

Profoundly exasperated, "Durand _is_ French," Radek reminds him.

"That doesn't make it any less-"

"You two argue like an old married couple," Evan says rather more waspishly than he'd intended, halfway to the door with a pair of long strides. "Maybe you two should be the ones getting married."

* * *

><p>Jinto gives him his brightest smile when he walks into the wide stretch of hallway that doubles as the lobby to Icarus' public office. "Lord 'Helianus!" the boy begins, practically bounding from behind his desk to great him, "To what do we owe this wonderful-"<p>

Evan steps around him quickly, taking the steps quickly as he heads for the door that will take him into Sheppard's office proper.

"-surprise," he finishes somewhat dumbly before regaining admirably with, "Lord 'Helianus, Sir! Lord Iohannes in the middle of a very important meeting and-"

Atlantis opens the door for him without even perfunctory pause, and leaves it open while he tells Icarus, "We need to talk."

"Alright," Sheppard agrees, sparing the time to give Evan a bemused smile before turning his guest and saying, "Minster Beade, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this short. It was nice to meet you and I look forward to working with you in the future."

The man – Minister Beade, who is, in all honestly, the _prettiest_ man Evan has ever laid eyes on, all carved cheekbones and perfect skin and absurdly dark eyes – nods sharply, the sour look that momentarily overtakes his features not pretty in the least. The irritation is long gone by the time he says charmingly, "I quite understand, my Lord. It has been pleasure enough to finally have you to myself for even but a few minutes. I will see myself out."

Eyebrow rising of its own accord, Evan finds himself asking, "Who was _that_?" his ill humour momentarily forgotten as Atlantis closes the doors on them.

"Idris Beade, the new Daganian Minster for Enterprise and Innovation."

"What happened to Allina?"

"She's dead – boiler explosion during the demonstration of an experimental steam engine," he explains, sounding far from put out over the event. "It's all very tragic. Thirteen workers and members of the Ministry delegation were killed, including Allina, and twenty-five others were injured. But historically early efforts with heat engines are almost always tragic, regardless of planet or species. But Minister Beade was just telling me how he was chosen to replace her and asking that we send someone from the University over to help keep things from maybe being quite so tragic in the future."

"He seems very…" There is no polite way to end that sentence. His mouth seems to realize this before his brain and supplies the word, "symmetrical," before Evan can come up with anything better.

Sheppard laughs – honestly, brightly, awkwardly, as if they were fellow soldiers at a bar on leave in some city whose language they couldn't even speak and with unspent pay checks burning a hole in their pockets, instead of all the artifices that have risen up between them. "I think he knows even less about science than I do, which is something I hadn't imagined possible. Then again, I'm fairly certain he wasn't chosen for his abilities, if y'know what I mean."

"Oh, I'm sure he was. Just probably not the ones he should have been."

The laugh this startles out of Sheppard is even brighter still. "You're probably true on that one. But what is it that you wanted to talk about anyway?"

"Ah." He feels himself flushing unexpectedly. He's not embarrassed by his concerns, not really, but after even a momentary distraction his concerns no longer feel as pressing, as important. They seem, well, more like the overreactions Radek and McKay seemed to think they are and not at all like something worthy of interrupting a meeting with a man who will likely become the face, if hardly the brains, of the Moralist party now that Allina is gone. "It's your plan. I don't think it's working like you wanted it to."

"Is that so?" Sheppard asks giving no indication of is own thoughts on the matter.

"Yes, it's just, I know what you're trying to do here. You want to convince Colonel Carter and Doctor Jackson you're not a threat. But calling them out on their nuclear deterrents – which you and I both know Atlantis had no clue about until you mentioned them – and then showing them your spaceships, which are only second to you and this city in their destructive capabilities, is not the way to go about it."

"Maybe I'm just trying to put the fear of god in them."

Evan rolls his eyes at the joke. "You've spent too long trying to blend in to come out of the shadows now, Icarus. Besides, you care about this city too much to ever jeopardize her safety in any way, and starting a war with the Terrans would do just that."

Icarus has changed clothes since Evan's seen him last. He's geared for war, albeit luxuriously so, in a night black brigandine woven through with silver thread, with a long-sleeved tunic stiff at the collar with silver couching. Over this he wears his usual vambraces, the pitch black ones that reach from elbow to wrist, and it is the laces of theses he picks at while he fails to meet Evan's eyes. "I shouldn't have to convince anyone of anything. They should just be able to look and see that I'm only doing what's best for Atlantis – for all of Pegasus, even. That's all I've ever done. That hasn't changed."

"Yes, well, not everyone is just going to trust that the most powerful being in the universe has only good intentions at heart. Particularly not those still fresh off a war with the Ori."

"What is the use of power, the point in knowledge, unless those with power use it to help those without?" Sheppard says, eyes flinty when they – finally – meet his. "I have always believed that. And the Terrans had no problem _letting_ me believe that when I was mortal and they were the ones reaping the benefits. The only thing that's changed since I Ascended is the amount of power and knowledge I can bring to bear – but obviously since it is the Descendants in Pegasus who are the ones benefiting most from my power and knowledge, it cannot be allowed, can it?"

"That's-" he doesn't finish the sentence. Because _not true_ is probably no longer true itself. "You've got to look at it from their perspective. Anything SG-1 has seen over the past decade that's even superficially resembled a god has almost always been some megalomaniacal alien with superior technology out to feed their ego at the expense of everyone else. They don't know what to do with an unbelievably powerful being who's actually as selfless and righteous and kind as he appears."

"I know. Believe me, I know," Sheppard says, running a hand over his face. With a sigh, "What do you suggest then?"

* * *

><p>It's what qualifies for winter at this latitude on Lantea, but that doesn't mean that the city's esplanades are anywhere near chilly. All that it really means is that they get about a tenth as much rain, none of the fog, and a pleasant northerly breeze that lessens the tropical heat, but Icarus calls it winter and the rest of them go along with it because it sounds better than <em>the dry season<em>.

Regardless of the actual temperature, Evan uses it as an excuse to light a bonfire, dragging an old oil drum somebody turned into a makeshift barbecue in the first year of the Expedition out to the far edge of the North Pier. It's hardly a beach, but its close enough that it reminds Evan of the times his parents would take him and his brother and sister to the ocean when they were little, in those summers hazy with nostalgia in his mind. There's no sand, certainly no sandcastles, and the ocean is a good sixty-foot drop below, but it's comfortable.

It's home.

"Where on Lantea did you find _hibisci_?" Sheppard asks Vala, pawing through the basket of foodstuffs she'd brought with her.

"Which one-?" she begins, turning from her conversation with Doctor Jackson, only to swat him on the head and snatch back the small clay jar he's holding. "John Sheppard, you get your nose out of there this instant. If you want to give people your germs, there are much more fun ways to go about it."

Sheppard rolls his eyes, but thankfully says nothing to remind everyone that he's Ascended and therefore, in all likelihood, germ-free. "I'm sure there are, _gemma_, but monogamy suits us both just fine."

"Spoilsport," she says, her laugh belaying her pout as she investigates the contents of the pot she's stolen back. "And I found it in that marketplace of yours. This woman who couldn't have been even five feet tall well selling it along with a whole bunch of other sweets. She called it _malvalekker_, but it reminded me of this dessert they used to make on my home planet before I was taken as host. _Mehalabeyya_, we called it. Of course, I think this version uses agave nectar and dried cranberries instead of honey and dates, but its close enough."

"It is_ hibisci _then. I've not seen it since I was a kid. My people were never big on sweets," he explains, handing back the pot's wide lid, "but we used pretty much every part of every plant we grew in the greenhouses. _Althaea_ roots, when we had them, were a welcome change to the rice and beans and bean pastes that were normal fare for us after the city was submerged. Of course, they stopped making it after Nicolaa stopped attending classes. _Hibisci_ is a children's food, and as she was the last child…"

Evan watches Vala and Jackson watch Sheppard with rapt fascination and doesn't try to supress his smile. It could easily have gone the other way, inviting their potential enemies to the Colonel's bachelor party, but so far things seem to be shaping up well. They have a bonfire, beer, and the unveiled stars above them. Maybe they can prevent war after all.

"I know what you're doing."

"And what's that, Colonel Carter?"

"Trying to make us forget that John isn't human. You might even succeed."

"Bully for me."

"You misunderstand me. I _want_ to like John, it's just..."

"He's not human? That doesn't make him automatically evil, you know," he reminds her, continuing to feed the bonfire. It doesn't need it, but Sheppard doesn't need to overhear this conversation either.

"It does make him automatically good either." She glances at the others, who are now laughing as they deal out a pack of cards and break into Vala's supply of sweets. They look happy. They look normal. "When I first met John Sheppard, I knew even then that he was a good man, a kind man. Maybe even the best man in universe. To sacrifice so much for Atlantis and, later, for people he barely knew, he had to be."

"He's still that man."

"Is he?" Carter asks. "Don't get me wrong, that's all still there. I don't think anything could ever separate him from his need to keep this city safe.

"But look at him, Major: He's Ascended since then. He's emperor of a billion people and god to an entire galaxy. He is temporally, spiritually, and practically the most powerful being in the known universe. And you know what they say about power."

"Icarus is not corrupt. He's not going to go corrupt."

"I'm sure people said that about the Ori, once."

"Icarus knows he's not a god."

"Does he?"

There's only the briefest of hesitations before Evan answers, "Yes," because Sheppard has to remember the truth, but that's answer enough for Colonel Carter.

She puts a hand on his shoulder, which Evan would be quicker to shrug off if the angle of her body wasn't shielding the thumb drive she slips him with her other from Sheppard's sight. "Enjoy the party," she tells him before walking away and joining the others at their card game.

Evan pokes at the fire for another minute or two before dealing in, the USB safely in his pocket. He has no idea what's on it, let alone why Carter might want him to have it, but if she risked so much to get it to him…


	3. Pars Tria

Coniunix

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

><p><strong>18 May, 2007  XXXI Iun. a.f.c. I – Atlantis, Lantea, Pegasus**

Evan has to hold his hand in front of the sensor for almost five minutes before someone actually opens the door.

"_Doufám, že to bude nutné_," Radek mumbles darkly, his words so slurred they verge on unintelligible. "_A nemám na mysli praskla potrubí. Mám na mysli poctivý bohu apokalypsy."_

"No apocalypse, I'm sorry, but there is coffee," he answers with a smile, practically pressing it into Radek's hand as he blinks owlishly at him, clearly trying to make sense of his words. "Coffee," Evan repeats. "_Káva_."

That seems to simulate at least a few brain cells, as Radek proceeds to down half of it. Sighing happily, he says, "You are saint."

"Not exactly."

Radek rubs the sleep out of his eyes with his free hand, then runs it haphazardly through his hair. "Is too early to argue semantics."

"It's almost 1300."

"I reject your need to operate on diurnal cycle."

"Are you going to become nocturnal then?" Evan asks beginning to worry his smile might split his face, but he can't help it. The attempt at taming has only made Radek's hair wilder – less like he just rolled out of bed, yes, but more like he's on a manic cycle. It shouldn't be endearing, let alone adorable, but it is. He knows better than to mention it, but cannot contain the grin.

"Perhaps" he says, returning the smile. Pushing away from the doorframe he's propped himself up against, he waves Evan inside with what's left of his coffee. "I like to keep my options open. Be quiet," he adds as the door shuts behind them. "Rodney is still asleep and, if Carson's awake, he's still on bathroom floor. _To je naposledy, co jsem se dostat do pitné soutěži se Skot. Nebyl jsem to kocovinu od prvního ročníku._"

Impossibly, Evan's grin gets wider. "I thought you didn't get hangovers," he whispers as the tiptoe past the couch on their way to the bedroom.

McKay is out cold, half-a-dozen _mardi gras _necklaces in knots on his bare chest. A game of poker – or possibly Go Fish – lies abandoned on the coffee table, the tablets they'd likely abandoned them for balanced at various improbable angles nearby, covered with incomprehensible squiggles that might actually be equations or could just as easily be gibberish. A DVD menu is still cycling on one of the laptops, popcorn kernels and candy wrappers scattered wildly about it. A quick survey discovers no less than two-dozen mason jars in various states of emptiness in plain sight.

"I didn't think so either. I had forgotten just how unpleasant it could be. Now," he says, shutting the bedroom door, "what brings you to my door at this god-awful hour?"

"Do I have to want something?" Evan asks. The bed is unmade, the sheets a wild tangle on the floor, but he takes a seat on it anyway.

Radek practically falls face first onto the bed beside him. "I do not think I would be particularly good company right now," he says into his pillow.

"I always enjoy it," Evan says honestly, not missing the way this causes his lover's body to stiffen, as if he's said something wrong.

"You shouldn't say things like that. You only make it harder on both of us," he says quietly.

"How?" Evan asks just as quietly. "How am I making this harder, Radek? I'm not planning on going anywhere. Are you?"

Pushing himself up on his elbows, "Of course not. Do not be stupid. But," Radek tells him, "one day the Wraith will attack, or the Replicators, or there will be an accident off-world, or the water treatment system will malfunction, and then one of us will die. And then where will we be?" He shakes his head. "No. Is better this way."

"I think we're long past the point of being unable to hurt each other."

"But not as much hurt."

"We both know that you're the only one who believes that," he says more quietly still. "I do love you, you know."

The room is silent for a moment, with even 'Lantis seeming to pause her song to see how Radek might respond to that, but Radek says nothing, and before the pause grows oppressive Evan pulls the USB from his pocket.

"Colonel Carter gave this me last night. Went to a lot of trouble to make sure Icarus didn't see it too, though its debatable if she actually succeeded."

"What is on it?" Radek asks, rising up a bit further.

Surprised, "I don't know," he answers. "I thought I should wait until we could open it on a non-networked computer. One with every safety protocol you can think of on it and a few more you come up with just for the occasion."

"Good idea."

"I have those every now and then."

"Hmm. Hand me that laptop – no, not that one, the one underneath. It should have the firewalls we need. Thank you. Now, let's see if we can't find what they want us to see…"

* * *

><p>He's just gotten back from a run and still rinsing off the soapsuds when his earwig goes crazy. He'd left it on the edge of the sink while he showered but it's buzzed itself to the floor by the time Evan reaches it, hurriedly trying to dry himself off enough that he won't electrocute himself when he shoves it in his ear.<p>

"'Helianus here."

"Ah, Evan, thank god," Radek says quickly over the comm without even a comment about how breathless he sounds, which is as sure a sign of a Grade A Crisis if there ever was one. "Please tell me you are near the hangar."

"I'm on _Aurora_ right now."

"Drop whatever you're doing. Rodney is about to do something very stupid and you must stop him, for all our sakes."

"What kind of stupid?"

"He's gone to confront Sheppard. We read the files on the USB Carter gave you," Radek explains. Water drips from his hair, soaking Evan's tunic as he shrugs it on as quickly as possible, and the soap is already starting to dry in places. It'll be uncomfortable before long, but there are more important things at stake here. "I know you wanted to know right away when we finished our scans, but Rodney did not want to wait and, well, he did not react well to the files."

"Are they that damning?" he asks, because it's not outside the realm of possibility that they're faked or at least exaggerated. Earth wants their help to overthrow Icarus. They're not going to tell them the full story if they can't help it. And McKay should know that.

"On their own? Not so much:

"For instance, he has been using his prize money to play the stock market, but that is nothing new. Sheppard has been doing that for a while to fund operations in the city. The only difference is that, between the Millennium Prize and Abel Prize and a few others he has been awarded, he now has around two-and-a-half US dollars to play with."

Evan whistles. He hadn't thought there was that kind of money in math, particularly Icarus' self-admittedly obscure branch of it. "What's so bad about that?" he asks, shoving bare feet into half-laced boots. "That just means more money for the hospital and the university-"

"-and to build battleships with. But, no, I do not think they are overly worried about our transistor purchases as much as they are the shares he holds in several of businesses involved in _their_ construction of F-304s. It is nothing much, nothing anywhere near controlling, but I suspect that they keep tabs on _anyone_ who acquires five percent of Colson Industries stock in six months, or eight percent of Farrow-Marshall Aeronautics, or twelve percent of Stanton Research."

"But why would that make McKay mad?" Evan asks, the door of his quarters closing behind him as he makes for the transporter at the end of the passageway. "I mean, we all knew he was doing it, even if no one paid much attention to the details."

"I do not know. It may have been the articles. Several of the files," he explains, "are copies of papers that Sheppard has published in mathematical journals back on Earth in the last few months, a great many of them since Rodney's brush with Ascension."

"And this made McKay upset?"

"Like I said, I do not know. One moment we were looking at the file directory, the next moment he went running off like a madman."

"And you're sure he's gone to confront Icarus?"

"Where else would he go?" Radek asks honestly. Sighing, "I have never seen him so upset. It was worse even than last year, when the others Ascended John and we had no idea if he was dead or alive. That was heartbreak, plain and simple. This…" his words catch in his throat, as if giving voice to his fears might cause them to give rise. "He looked like his world was ending. I think he might cancel the wedding."

"Holy shit."

"Do you understand now? We cannot let him do something he'll only regret later."

"Alright. God. I understand. Fuck," he breathes, realizing he's stumbled to a halt in the middle of the loading bay, about fifteen meters from the gangplank that's4 almost permanently lowered whenever _Aurora_'s planet-side. He starts walking again, picking up the pace to make up for lost time. "I'll catch him, I promise. I'm almost off the ship. I mean, hell-"

-and then McKay's voice – echoing and tremulous in the vast hangar – comes sharply, calling out Sheppard's name from some place far too close to the gangway and just out of sight from Evan's place just inside the hatch.

Evan moves to intercept him. He's seen McKay without Icarus and never wants to see it again, because as bad as Icarus had been without him, McKay had been far, far worse. But something keeps him in place – indeed, something has him moving further into the shadows, farther out of sight.

It's probably Rory's voice in his head, barely audible over Radek's voice through the comm and still almost imperceptible after he yanks the earwig out, telling him, /Hide. Do not let _Pater_ see. Do not let _Pater_ hear. Stay quiet and you might stay safe, _Pastor_./

/Why?/ is all he dares ask – or has time to – before Sheppard is responding-

"Rodney?" his own voice warm and resonant. His is the voice of a man utterly in love seeing the person whom he cannot live without. "What're you doing here? I thought you and Radek had some mysterious project you wanted to finish before-"

"Tell me it's not true," McKay demands, closer now, having none of it. "Tell me it's a lie, that it's all in my head; that I've been under too much stress and now I'm having a psychotic break. Tell me anything, just so long as it means that it's not true."

"That _what'_s not true?" Icarus asks laughingly, as if McKay's dismay amuses him, which, admittedly, it's been known to do – but not like this, never quite like this. "Is it about last night? 'Cause it was Vala's idea to play truth-or-dare and-"

"_I saw the article_."

"_What_ article?"

"Malcolm Tunney's obituary in the _Houston Chronicle_."

"Who's Malcolm Tunney?" Icarus asks, echoing Evan's thoughts.

"Did you kill him?"

"Why would I kill someone I don't even know?"

"Don't play games with me, John. Just tell me, did you kill him?"

Quietly, reasonably, rationally, he asks, "Why d'you think I killed him?" He sounds so calm and collected and _sensible_ that next to him McKay sounds half mad.

But there's something sincere in McKay's tone – something that says that he knows exactly how crazy he sounds, but knows he must speak nonetheless – that cannot be denied. It is with this tone that he continues, "Just tell me, John: did you kill him, yes or no?"

Sheppard doesn't say anything, but that's answer enough really.

Evan sucks in a sharp breath, then holds it for longer than is strictly advisable because Rory is telling him, /Quiet. Quiet. Quiet, or he'll hear,/ and he finds himself afraid of his adoptive father for the first time since Evan he met the man.

"Why did you kill him?"

Sheppard doesn't answer that question either.

"Fuck," McKay breathes, and they must be close if Evan can hear it, or the hanger must carry sound better than he ever suspected, or the nanoids in his head have done something to his hearing. Then, "What about Allina? Did you kill her too?"

Silence.

"Fucking hell, John. Do you have any idea how many people died in that explosion? 'Cause, from what I heard, they were only able to get a death count from the number of workers that were reported missing the next day, because it's not like Dagan has any dental records for their coroners to work from."

"Thirteen," Sheppard says clearly, quietly, and without remorse. "Thirteen people, including Allina."

"Why?"

"You know why, Rodney."

"Y-you knew?"

"I'm Ascended. Of course I knew."

"You never said."

"I thought you wouldn't want me to."

"But you thought I'd want her dead because of it? That I'd be willing to let you murder _twelve other people_ to do it?"

"She needed to die," Icarus insists, absolute conviction filling his every word. Evan doesn't know what Allina had done, but when put in that manner even he has trouble believing otherwise.

But not McKay, who counters, "Like Malcolm needed to die? The man was an idiot, but a harmless one. God, John how many other people have you killed trying to protect me?"

"I've only done what had to be done to keep you safe."

"Bullshit. If that were really the case, you wouldn't be hiding it. You've wanted Allina gone since her little Moralist party started gaining enough ground to give you trouble. What did Malcolm have that you wanted?"

"You've got to believe me, Rodney-"

"I don't have to do anything. You've just told me you're going across the universe _murdering_ people. You're lucky I don't just turn around and walk back out the door."

"Rodney, please," and Sheppard is pleading now, his voice desperate and plaintive but still filled with the surety of his beliefs, "you've got to understand. I'm doing this for you."

"Don't say that. Don't you dare put this on me."

"Rodney-

"This isn't you. You're a better man than this."

"Am I?"

"Of course you are. I've never known anyone to be more heroically self-sacrificing than you. If you'd asked me six months ago, I would've said that, if the universe had to choose someone to be its god, than it couldn't have chosen anyone better than you. But that was six months ago and, god," McKay admits, "I love you, but you've changed. I don't know who you've become, only that you're not the same person you were. That person wouldn't have committed genocide on his own race, or killed Allina or Malcolm or _Chaya_-"

As Evan wracks his brain for a face to put the name _Chaya_ to, Sheppard's voice turns bitter cold. "What did you say?"

"I don't mean it as a criticism. I know you wouldn't be doing it if you thought you didn't have any other options, but you do, John, you do. You just can't see them anymore. You're so concerned with keeping me safe – with keeping 'Lantis safe – that you've turned your back on everything either of us has ever believed in to do it. We love you as much as we do precisely because you _don't_ murder people to get your way, that you don't mind dissent, that you listen to other people. But now..." he sighs. "It's not too late to turn back.

"How do you know about Chaya?"

Frustrated now, "Did you not just hear anything I said?"

"How-?"

"What do you mean how? I saw the article about Malcolm's car accident and then I suddenly _remembered_ that you killed Chaya to bring me back when I wasn't even dead – and don't think we won't be talking about that later. It just proves my point. Wiping people's memories? This isn't you. You have to see that. But you can still- John, what are you doing? John, stop it. Don't do this again. John, don't- John!"

Silence.

Evan's pressed into the shadows as much as the laws of physics will allow, but regardless of logic, he tries to sink further into the wall. Both his hands are over his mouth, trying to hold back any sound that might try to escape. Even his breath seems too loud, and a thousand fears flash across his eyes in an instant. Icarus wouldn't, _couldn't_-

"Hey John," McKay says cheerfully a minute or two later. "There was something you wanted me to take a look at?"


End file.
